Little Drummer Girl
by Butteryfly Truths
Summary: Short little one-shot with Fem!America. Falling from grace is never pretty but it's the realization that everything up to this point has been in vain that hurts the most. At the end of the day she was still a British colony.


**Wow I am just banging out these one-shots this week. Actually I've had this sitting around for a little bit so I decided to finally put it up.**

**Hope you enjoy angsty revolution feels**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia**

Little Drummer Girl

_Rain poured down from the sky, quickly turning the battlefield into one giant mud pit, filling in the craters caused by opposing cannon fire and washing the blood away. It was as if God himself cried for the blood spilt, not only for today but for the past eight years, all the lives lost, homes burnt and families torn apart. However, their sacrifices had not been in vain._

_Two people stood in the battlefield staring each other down. One was clothed in red while the other in blue. Neither looked away, both stubbornly not wanting to be the first to back down. They barely noticed the rain, too caught up in their own thoughts and emotions to notice themselves getting soaked to the bone. The girl in blue, yes it was a girl though you could hardly tell past the rugged military uniform and her close-cropped hair, could not help but feel bittersweet about this moment._

_She had been dreaming of this moment for eight years and yet as she stood there looking at the man before her all she could muster was pity and a dull sadness. While both she and her people had wanted their independence from the nation in front of her, she had never wanted to harm the man who stood before her. How could she hurt the man who'd taken care of her, fed her, gave her a home and something new to look forward to each day? It was simply a horrible twist of fate that had led the two to turn into enemies. Even now, as she held her musket firmly pointed at his chest, she knew she didn't have the heart to shoot him and never would._

"_It's over," she stated quietly. The statement shocked the man before her out of his glare. "I won. I'm… I'm independent now." She watched the heartbreak flicker across his eyes._

"_Why?" was his question, his voice breaking over the one small word._

"_You know why." They'd had this discussion countless times throughout the war, he'd received his answer many times over yet it still didn't seem to compute in his mind. _

_"England… I'm sorry," she said haltingly. They both knew that it wasn't about her victory, her impending freedom from his rule, but their relationship, the tatters that remained at least. This seemed to be the last straw as England dropped his gun and fell to his knees, sinking into the unforgiving mud. One hand held his head and the other clutched his breeches as sobs began to rack his body._

"_Dammit America, you idiot, why couldn't you just follow it through till the end?" the man sobbed. America gazed upon England solemnly. She didn't answer because there was no need. He knew why, he always had known. She lowered her gun to her side. There was nothing more she could say, they both knew what was required of them._

"_Goodbye England," she said before turning on her heels and walking away from the man she once worshiped and towards her people, the ones who truly needed her now._

_That was how it was _supposed_ to go_.

Instead now America found their roles reversed. Instead of England in the mud and America standing tall before him the opposite scene played out. America barely heard the two small splashes as her breeches hit the mud, sinking in slightly. Her musket lay abandoned a few feet away, practically submerged in the mud at this point.

Her head felt just as muddy as the ground she lay on, her thoughts trying to break through the haze of disbelief. She had been so close, victory had been just within reach and then the rug had been pulled out beneath her feet and everything had been turned upside down.

"I…" America cut off as she felt her body shudder and a sob force its way past her lips. The reality of it hit her like a brick to the face. All those men who'd valiantly fought by her side, who'd left their families and risked their lives for the cause, she'd let them down. She had failed her own people. She could almost see the pile of dead bodies before her, the smiling young faces she'd learned to love now frozen with an empty look in their eyes, their mouths opened in a silent scream. They had trusted her and she'd led them all to their deaths.

"…_God_," she whispered, twin rivers running down her face as she gave into the despair that engulfed her heart, her entire body shaking with the force of the sobs that erupted from within.

England stood a few feet away, regarding his colony silently. He wanted to comfort her, to assure her that everything would be fine and that they'd move past this, but he found he couldn't. A small part of him enjoyed seeing his colony in the same pain he'd experienced not too long ago when she sent that accursed document to his king. This entire thing had been her fault and she needed to take responsibility for her actions. She could feel his gaze and forced her blue eyes up to meet his green ones.

"It's over," he stated bluntly. "You lost."

A fresh wave of sorrow engulfed America as she bowed her head once again.

"I know," she whimpered. "I just… my people just couldn't… you have to understand…" she felt her throat tighten as she tried to explain to England why she'd done this, all the valid reasons behind her desire for independence from the British Crown. Her words failed her though and she could just muster the strength for two small words.

"I'm sorry."

If she'd been looking up then maybe she'd have caught the hurt that flashed across England's eyes, but she was too busy wallowing in her own despair at the moment. It was only when a black gloved hand entered her distorted sight that she glanced up at England. He held his right hand out while the left still held his musket.

"Come on America, let's go home."

His words brought an ancient memory back to the forefront of America's mind, one from a time when she'd still been young and naïve and easily swayed by the sparkling green eyes and gentle smile the man before her had given.

Almost in a daze she watched as her hand lifted and wrapped tightly around his, allowing the empire to pull her out of the mud and to her feet. Together they walked away from the mud and the rain and all the bodies that littered either end of the field. America felt like she wanted to just sink back into the mud and stay there for a century or so but the tight grip around her hand kept her body from doing what her heart desired. Her revolution had been in vain. She had lost. She was still a British Colony.

_England gave her a dazzling smile, the sides of his velvet coat flying on the wind that tousled his straw blond hair._

"_Come on America, let's go home."_

Those words that had been spoken to her had held so much hope. What was home now though?


End file.
